the sad part in this
young society is that I have to EXPLAIN this expression to most and it loses
all its power and beauty when you have to explain it, what is the point of
having metaphors when the intended recipient is clueless ?

Like saying Life or a
task or a job is Sisyphean... beautiful concise words that say a whole story in
very few letters of course they are folklore and mythology and so is Hell but
we used the word often to express a sentiment

Now my Room 101 which I foolishly even compared to the big C
news was nothing at all despite the slight chest pain I felt during the ordeal.

(on a sidenote in fact it was very similar if not shorter to my heart surgery
in 2005, where the stress and the fear and the worries are so much worse than
the ordeal itself, but we do it all the time don’t we?

Translated in other countries I suppose (especially
countries with social networks) as Welfare Review or ODSP review in Ontario or
Dole whatever somewhere else basically a revision of a pension one is getting
and depending on for LIVING.

And it came right as we also settle in what we have been
waiting for for 7 years now, a nice affordable Housing Accommodation again
called different things in different countries with a social net.

So now I should feel relaxed, peaceful, satisfied, totally Zen
one would think but no.

And that is the trap of depression I suppose: Nothing at all
rejoices me. No new toys, no new apartment, no new things, not even the
possibility of a nice cruise next year.
Everything leaves flat and deflated and always reminds me of Ani
DiFranco’s words:

the sky is grey, the sand is grey, and the ocean is grey.
I feel right at home in this stunning monochrome, alone in my way.
What kind of paradise am i looking for?
I’ve got everything I want and still I want more.
Maybe some tiny shiny key will wash up on the shore.

But the thing is I never ever even go to the fucking shore
which is really close to here.

May it be the physical or the metaphorical shore I can’t be
fucked to go there even.

One would think I should take anti-depressants for that no?
But nah, just dragging my fattening ass along for the humdrum of the day trying
to survive one more is all I do really.
The drugs I’d like anyway would be a bigger form of escape with Lucy in
the Sky with Diamonds type I suppose.

So a little bit of music and some humdrum of the least annoying
TV series I can watch to keep my mind busy and the usual routine of dragging my
ass all day trying to REMEMBER my routine and not miss a step or even worse
double one.

So at this point there is no utopia to come in my mind, no
nothing, just waiting for the wind to change again but the wind just doesn’t
change much lately. I can’t remember my least manic episode lately as if they
were a distant past of someone I used to know. And I do miss ‘em. In fact I
wouldn’t mind another crisis like I had so many years ago where I went ballistic
and made Michelle Bridges look like a paraplegic. It would certainly improve my declining
diabetic freefall these days but nah I am tied to this chair with invisible
chains with only the best intentions as always on this road to hell.

Fuck I wish there was a pill for that and a pill for reading
too since I haven’t read in days (as in reading books) but there is no pills
for me, no healing, no therapy, no solution,

ONLY waiting for the WIND to change,

ALWAYS waiting for the WIND to change

and I can hear all them phonies and Anthony Robbins wannabes
screaming at me and once again I CBF.